Unburied Papyrus

Embroiled in the enigma of existence in more strange & unsettling times, one must hold onto the miracle or risk becoming one of the walking dead. These entries are a poor approximation of my life & the wonders that pass through my spirit. If I could communicate properly how much I love you all & assign a tireless list of evolving names that fit I would, instead I offer these random reflections.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Following the White Horse At the End of Time

A man has two hands
& one head
they say.
That a man does not
have five heads
& eight hands
is perhaps allowable
but insufficient
as a weather report.
In truth
the hand that touches
this girl
is not the hand
that touches
that girl.
Perception is not reality.
Particular niches move,
fragments in the mosaic.
I am no more that person
than a fish is a swimmer
of today's mountaintop.
Best to keep hands aware
& heads open
to many-scented winds.
Wander the backroads.
The common way
has brought the world
to ruin.